


Paved with good intentions

by Tammaiya



Category: Tales of Hearts
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-10
Updated: 2010-09-10
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:20:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tammaiya/pseuds/Tammaiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hisui should have known better than to drink with Kohak and Shing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paved with good intentions

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://littlelinor.livejournal.com/profile)[**littlelinor**](http://littlelinor.livejournal.com/)'s birthday, 2010. \o/ LOOKIT I WROTE SOMETHING. (Other than my thesis, that is. orz) Set in the context of a highschool!AU that still exists only in potentia, but isn't necessary for reading this fic.  
> 
> Warnings for strong incestuous overtones/kink, underage drinking and sexual situations, and the fact that, like Hisui, I am a terrible person who is going to hell.

The thing is, Hisui is pretty sure he’s supposed to be the responsible adult, here.

Not that, at eighteen, he is actually an _adult_ , per se. But in the situation they’re in – living alone in Tokyo, with meals to cook and bills to pay – someone has to act like one, and that someone is inevitably going to be Hisui. He’s the oldest, after all.

And in this _particular_ situation… well, Shing’s only 16, not to mention his general naïve _Shing_ -ness, so if there’s going to be underage drinking, Hisui knows he’s got to be the mature, sensible one who makes sure nothing bad happens.

What he doesn’t know is how he got himself into said situation in the first place, but he suspects he’s failing epically at the whole being a responsible adult thing.

He’d be lying if he said it had seemed like a good idea, even at the time. Hisui’s not stupid; he’d known right from the start that getting drunk with Shing and Kohak had “bad plan” stamped all over it. He just hadn’t realised at first how bad, or he never would have agreed to this.

It had been somewhere between the point when Shing had turned into a hug-monster and when his younger sister had passed out on the floor that it had dawned on Hisui just how much shit he’d gotten himself into.

He’d had no qualms with Kohak drinking. Sake brewing was a regional specialty in their prefecture; everyone in the village drank it during festival times, if not all year through. Their aunt believed in early exposure, so he and Kohak have both had access to alcohol from fairly young. Consequently, Kohak is usually pretty strong with alcohol. Hisui has faith in her ability to drink most amateurs under the table, so he hadn’t worried, but then she’d gone and overdone it, maybe trying to show off in front of Shing or maybe just too caught up in the atmosphere. Even with her high tolerance, she’s still a girl, and fairly waiflike at that; it’s no surprise that after drinking that much plum wine she’d dozed off mid-sentence.

Shing, on the other hand, had barely drunk anything at all by Heart standards, which is probably the only reason he isn’t flat on his back right now. He’s a complete lightweight; it barely took a whiff of the fumes before his face was turning red, and one can of Chuuhai later, he’d already been wobbly on his feet and giggling a lot.

Hisui should have known. He should have known Shing would have no tolerance for alcohol. He should have known that Shing would be an affectionate drunk. And most of all, he should have known _better_.

He should _never_ have let this happen.

“Going to hell, going to hell,” he chants under his breath, trying gingerly to pry Shing off his back. The kid is weirdly clingy, like a particularly cute and cuddly octopus, and this really isn’t what Hisui needs right now. “Get off, idiot, you’re heavy!”

“But Hishui-shempai’s sho shoooft,” Shing slurs, draping himself limply over Hisui’s shoulder so spiky tufts of hair tickle at the side of Hisui’s face. “Shem… shemp… Hishui-niiiii.”

Hisui freezes momentarily. Did Shing just…? No, he decides, it’s just unintelligible drunken babble. Who knows if that was even a real word.

“I said get _off_ , you drunkard!” he says disgustedly, and jabs his elbow viciously back into Shing’s abdomen. “You reek of alcohol, it’s giving me a headache.”

Shing’s reflexes are totally shot, so he slides to the ground in a heap with barely more than a futile flail.

“Hishui-niii,” he whines, eyes tearing up slightly, and with his mused up hair and flushed cheeks… shit, why’s is this Hisui’s life? “Don’ be meeeean!”

Hisui sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face, and wonders what he did to deserve this before he remembers that he’s a terrible person and his ancestral gods have probably all disowned him, especially his mother.

“Why’re you calling me that, anyway,” he mutters, dispirited.

“’Cause Hishui-nii’s an awesome big bro!” Shing enthuses, then props his chin on his hand, looking up wistfully at Hisui under his bangs. “You ‘n Kohak-chan are so luckyyyy. I wish I had siblings. I wan’ a big bro like Hishui-nii.”

“Trust me, you really don’t,” Hisui says grimly. Someone as fucked up as him doesn’t deserve younger siblings, and he really, really wants to change the topic right now. Unfortunately, even drunk, Shing doesn’t give up so easily.

“’s okay if I call shempai Nii-shan, right?” he asks, eyes shining with earnestness as he stares up at Hisui, pushing himself up onto all fours and reaching out.

“No!” Hisui snaps reflexively, jerking away, and he swears under his breath when he falls back onto his elbow. He’s not totally smashed like the other two, but he’s had enough for it to be affecting his coordination a little, and he knows he’ll be paying for that now. Shing bites his lower lip, gaze filling with hurt. Hisui glances down at his mouth, slightly puffy from the abuse, and then tears his eyes away, forcing himself to squeeze them shut.

Going to hell, _going to hell_.

“Nii-shan,” Shing whines, oblivious to Hisui’s flinch, and then he apparently decides to change tack slightly – maybe it’s not as hard to say or there’s some other reason that makes sense in his intoxicated brain, but –

“Niiiii- _chaa~n_.”

Shing practically sounds like one of those escorts. Hisui whimpers, and his eyes fly open again against his will, because there was no way he could stop himself looking, but now he can’t look away, being Shing is pouting and... crawling towards him, fuck fuck _fuck_ …!

Hisui is too busy freaking out to actually do anything until it’s too late and Shing is already sliding into his lap. The worst bit is, he knows Shing has no idea what he’s doing to Hisui or what this looks like; he’s just feeling cuddly, and Hisui is getting turned on by it like a giant rotten perv.

Right when Hisui is thinking that, Shing trips over his legs and collapses on top of him with a whoosh of fume-laden breath right in Hisui’s face. Shing is smushed into his chest, and Hisui is frozen like a block of ice, because Shing’s knee is nudging right against his boner and there’s no way he can’t have noticed, except apparently he’s too drunk for even the blindingly obvious because he’s still just looking at Hisui with those clueless eyes like everything’s totally all right when this is as far from _all right_ as Hisui’s ever been.

“Oof,” says Shing. “Hishui-nii? Wass wrong?”

Hisui is only one man, and there is only so much he can fucking take. He lunges forward with a frustrated growl, toppling the slighter boy so that Shing is sprawled beneath him on the carpet, Hisui’s hands planted to either side of his head.

Shing lies prone, staring up at him with those wide, trusting eyes with a slight quizzical tilt to his head. Shing’s pupils are blown, eyes dark and glazed, and as his tongue darts out to dampen his lower lip, Hisui can feel his willpower crumble to dust around him. He hadn’t thought he’d drunk that much, but it was obviously enough to lower his inhibitions and distort his common sense, because he doesn’t stand a chance against this. Before he can stop himself, he’s got his hands buried in Shing’s hair, his body weight pinning Shing to the floor, and he’s crushing their mouths together.

What he doesn’t expect – or wouldn’t have expected, had he been thinking at all – is for Shing to react so enthusiastically. His hands are twisted in Hisui’s shirt, clinging, and Hisui’s mind is a roaring blank when Shing’s mouth opens under his, sucking on his tongue like it’s ice-candy. Shing is squirming under him, which would be distracting enough, but he’s making these little mewling noises that are threatening to drive Hisui right out of his mind until he notices the sharp stinging taste of alcohol in Shing’s mouth and –

 _GOING TO HELL!_ his conscience shrieks, hysterical, and sanity reasserts itself like a blast of ice water.

Oh god, Hisui thinks desperately, and wrenches himself away. This was – okay, not the absolute worst possible thing to happen, but it was getting pretty close.

Operation Be A Responsible Adult: Complete and utter _fail_.

Shing won’t let go, though, and when Hisui tries to pull back he follows, pouncing and rolling them so he ends up straddling Hisui, Hisui’s hands gripping tightly at his hips and caught somewhere between pulling him closer and holding him back. He’s always been a persistent brat so somehow Hisui feels like he should have seen this coming, and yet he like always he still ends up being taken by surprise when it comes to this kid. Shing’s mouth is swollen red from kisses; his hair is a wreck, and he’s still flushed and half-lidded from the drink. In short, he looks utterly debauched, and it goes straight to the pit of Hisui’s stomach in a bolt of liquid heat.

Shing glances up at him from beneath his lashes, guileless in a way that’s totally at odds with his appearance.

“Nii-chan,” he chides, and Hisui hisses, fingers digging into Shing’s sides with a convulsive twitch. _Fuck_ , there is no way Shing could have missed his reaction that time, not from where’s he’s perched.

Sure enough, Shing is giving him this really speculative look that says inebriated or not, he’s not letting that one slide. Hisui is praying for death, lightning to strike him dead on the floor, maybe the floor to open up and swallow him whole; what he’s most afraid of is the fall-out when morning comes, and he can’t decide if it would make things better or worse if Shing couldn’t remember any of this.

He could go his whole life without Shing knowing just how fucked up he is, but on the other hand, it kind of makes everything ten times worse if Shing can’t even remember he’s been taken advantage of later.

Oblivious to Hisui’s self-recriminations, Shing is still giving him that look, and Hisui is dragged out of his own head by the gleeful grin that’s starting to spread across Shing’s face.

“Niiii-chaaan,” he sings, rolling his hips tentatively, and Hisui bucks, helpless. “Hisui-nii~”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Hisui moans, heartfelt, and his conscience is still niggling but it’s no match for Shing moving on top of him like that. He’s already going to hell anyway, so he might as well be damned thrice over, right?

Okay, so he’s pretty sure that logic’s messed up, but he really, _really_ doesn’t care right now.

“Shing,” he says desperately, “Shing, Shing –” until he can’t talk because Shing’s tongue is back in his mouth, slobbery and messy and tasting like a brewery, but what Shing lacks in skill and finesse he makes up in zeal. It’s almost like being mauled and it’s all Hisui can do to hold on during the onslaught of Shing, and yet somehow Shing’s clumsy inexperience is endearing instead of a turn-off.

All told, it _really_ doesn’t take very long, because even with the dampening effects of alcohol they’re still teenage boys. Hisui spares a moment of guilty regret for the fact that Shing’s first time had to be in a situation like this (shit-faced drunk, fully clothed, with Hisui and his twisted perversions), and spares a longer moment to twist up his face in disgust at the fact that they both came in their pants, so now in addition to stinking of booze they also reek of sex.

Fantastic.

Hisui lies there staring up at the ceiling, panting like a freight train, sticky and satiated and lethargic in a way that only an afterglow can bring. He knows they should at least try and salvage things by getting up and cleaning themselves off or something; everything will start to cool and congeal in a few minutes and it’s going to start feeling really gross, really soon. Not to mention if they fall asleep like this the clean-up will be hell and the morning after even worse. You’ll have to face Shing like this in the morning, he tells himself. Not to mention trying to explain this to Kohak.

… Oh crap, Kohak. Who is still lying several feet away, dead to the world and oblivious of the fact that her brother has been making out with her drunken friend right there.

“Going to _hell_ ,” he says under his breath to himself again, just to hear the words out loud.

“’s okay,” Shing mumbles, and Hisui can feel the flutter of those unusually long lashes against his skin when Shing presses a feather light kiss to his cheek. “’Cause I love you lots, Hisui-nii-chan.”

There are all the reasons in the world why he should get up right this instant and at least engage in damage control, but Shing’s breathing has already evened out into sleep, and he’s a little heavy, but the weight is warm and comforting. He doesn’t want to wake Shing by shifting him. He doesn’t want to move at all, in fact, and it’s hard to work up the motivation to care.

“Oh, whatever,” Hisui sighs, and lets himself be taken by blessed, blessed sleep.

He can always feel guilty in the morning, anyway.


End file.
